Many Meetings
by Mirkwood
Summary: The hobbits have reached Rivendell, but the Fellowship has not yet been formed. What do our future heroes do in their spare time? Takes place two months after the Council of Elrond. Complete!!
1. Chapter One: Many Meetings

Author's Note: This story is set in December 3018, two months after the Council of Elrond, while the hobbits and Gandalf are staying at Rivendell. Although the world outside is in its Winter Season, the valley of Imladris remains in perpetual Autumn. The Fellowship has yet to be formed; its future members are either scouring the countryside for any signs of the Black Riders, or waiting for news at home. On this mid- winter evening, Merry and Pippin anxiously await the return of a very special friend…

Disclaimer: Middle- Earth belongs to Tolkien; I'm just borrowing it for a while.

      Sunset in the West cast a scarlet glow over the valley of Rivendell, and far in the distance, the first stars twinkled above the horizon. Reflecting the sky of red and gold, a vibrant waterfall plunged down the cliff's face into the river below. The path that led to the stone bridge was still lined with a scattering of autumn leaves, but the air was tinged the scent of the snow-covered mountains to the East. 

       Farther along the path and across the bridge was a wide, circular terrace that skirted the edge of the main library. Through the open door of the library, the sound of light conversation drifted out into the cool evening. It was autumn, but the fingers of winter were creeping over the rim of the world.

       As their companions were occupied indoors, Merry and Pippin stole the opportunity for a quiet stroll along the veranda. At first they walked aimlessly, chatting about kaleidoscope of topics, but suddenly Merry stopped in mid sentence, holding up a hand for silence. 

"Pippin, do you hear that?" he asked his cousin, inclining an ear towards the new sound. Pippin pondered for a moment, forehead creased in concentration. The two hobbits ran over to the edge of the balcony and leaned against the rail, scanning the quiet valley for the source of the disturbance.

"I hear it!" Pippin exclaimed in an excited whisper. He narrowed his eyes, shading them with his hand against the setting sun. As they stood with their backs to the library, they failed to notice the sound of approaching footsteps behind them. 

Hands shoved into his wide pockets, Frodo strolled across the balcony, observing the antics his cousins with curiosity. 

After clambering onto the outside of the railing, Pippin was attempting to find a perch in the branches of a large beech whose crown just passed the top of the veranda. Merry gave him a leg up into the tree, and then both froze as they tried to relocate the sound.

"Hullo, Merry!" Frodo hailed them as he drew near. "Merry?" When neither replied, the young hobbit raised an eyebrow. "Pippin?"

"Ssh!" the cousins answered simultaneously.

Sam stepped out of the library onto the veranda, coming over the join the group. "What are they up to now?"  

Frodo shrugged; he was asking himself the same question. The four hobbits fell silent again, but Frodo and Sam exchanged more than a few concerned glances at their companions. Merry and Pippin made no move to acknowledge them, until suddenly Pippin bounced in his perch, shaking the branches wildly. 

"It IS him! He's back, Merry!"

He started to climb down, shouting to his cousin to help him at the bottom. Merry ran the length of the terrace until he reached the small path that led down to the bridge. 

"Who is it?" Sam looked to Frodo, concluding that he wouldn't get any sense out of the cousins. Frodo was staring into the distance, but suddenly a soft smile spread on his lips.

"Sam, I think it's…" 

Eyes shining with delight, he pulled Sam toward the path where Merry had gone. The young hobbit was running across the grass to help his cousin down from the tree, and Pippin was soon settled safely on the ground. The two were pointing and waving toward something in the distance, and Sam gazed in the direction they were indicating. Suddenly a voice broke out of the trees, uplifted in clear song.

_A Elbereth Githoniel,_

_Silren penna miriel_

_O menel aglar elenath!_

_Na- chaered palan- diriel_

_A galadhremmin emnorath,_

_Fanuilos, le linnathon_

_Nef aear, si nef aearon!_

 The last strains of the elvish song fell on their ears as they waited for the newcomer to approach. Finally, the outline of a tall figure appeared from the surrounding foliage on the other side of the bridge. As the man drew near, the last rays of sunlight on his features brought immediate recognition. 

 With a uniform shout of delight, the four hobbits broke into a run, their small feet kicking up clouds of dust along the way. The outcry had aroused the occupants of the library, who came hurrying outdoors to discover the source of the commotion. Gandalf, followed by several elves, reached the terrace first, and leaned over the balcony for any sign of the hobbits.

"Frodo?!" 

"It's Strider!"

The distant call from the path below brought a smile to his lips. As he rounded the bend to the path, he was greeted by the sight of a rather bewildered ranger, in the process of being accosted by four over-enthusiastic hobbits. Pippin was jumping to get on Strider's back, overtop of his traveling gear, and the extra weight caused the ranger to stumble slightly. As the man steadied himself, a small hand slipped into his rough, travel-worn one, and a bright face smiled up at him.

"Well met, Master Merry."

Reaching out, he ruffled Merry's yellow curls, smiling warmly at the others.

"Hello Sam, Frodo."

Sam came over to take Strider's other hand, and Frodo took his arm. As they led him up the path, Merry smiled inwardly, suddenly realizing how much they had missed the Ranger. Pippin was just dangling from Strider's back, his fingers inadvertently tangled in the Ranger's long hair. Suddenly Strider howled and threw his head back, as a sharp pain shot up his skull. Turning quickly, he succeeded in catching the hobbit before he fell. He tossed Pippin into the air a few times, laughing at the hobbit's loud protests. Merry laughed with the rest of them, racing Sam to the top of the hill. He crouched on the path, panting, waiting for the rest to catch up. Looking back, Merry noticed that Frodo had suddenly become serious, and was looking up at Strider questioningly. The man looked uncomfortable, but he shrugged at smiled as if to project some confidence that he did not feel. Merry saw Frodo nod, looking slightly dejected, but as he looked at Strider again there was gratefulness shining in his eyes. Merry smiled, recognizing the message immediately. *He's saying thank you for saving us.* Standing up again, he mouthed the words, although he knew no one would hear him. *Thank you, Aragorn.*  

Sam had finally gained the top of the hill, and he insisted that Merry had cheated, starting ahead of him. Merry shrugged, it was probably true, and anyway he had no objections to a second race, especially since he was the fastest among the four hobbits. As they started again, he slowed down slightly, wishing to save his breath. But as Sam sped past him into the garden, Merry panicked and tried to increase his speed.

Concentrating on the race, Merry failed to notice the tall figure at the top of the path until he ran smack into him, mumbling a torrent of apologies. Then Aragorn appeared around the bend with his escort, and another smile lit his face as he greeted his old friend.

"Well met, Gandalf-"

His greeting was cut short as he tripped over Pippin, who was clinging to his arm like a limpet. Gandalf came forward then, and his eyes sparkled with unspoken amusement. 

"Well met, Aragorn," he said, inclining his head toward the hobbits. "Kindly inform us the next time you decide to be valiant and volunteer yourself for a dangerous mission? You left like a thief in the night, and some of our little friends were quite upset. But Elrond has told them now, and I trust your part of the journey was successful?"

Aragorn gave him a rather wry look. "If successful means we didn't find them, yes it was very successful."

"You mean the Riders are gone for good?" Sam queried from under Strider's elbow.

"We hope so, Samwise." Not wanting the hobbit to worry, Aragorn tried to make light of the situation. "Hopefully we won't have to worry about them for a long time."

Sam nodded, his eyes growing serious. They were nearing the door of the library, when a small voice hailed them from a little alcove in the surrounding garden.

"Ah, so the long- lost Dunadan has returned."

Smiling, Aragorn stopped to acknowledge it.

"Hello Bilbo."

"What took you so long?" The older hobbit looked offended, peering over the rim of a large book with narrowed eyes.

"We had urgent business to attend to in the South. My party traveled all the way down the Greyflood into Tharbad."

 Bilbo snorted. "That is no excuse for your reckless wandering off without any notification!"

"I'm sorry. Master Elrond thought it would be best if we left as swiftly as possible. And I thought you said I wouldn't be missed," the Dunadan reminded him with a twinkle in his eyes.

"I said no such thing," Bilbo retorted, laying the book aside and moving to join them. He surveyed the Ranger with a critical eye. "You look terrible," he said finally, causing Aragorn to chuckle. "Come in the library and sit down, Dunadan. It's a lovely evening for smoke rings and a story."

The embodiment of a great spreading beech tree, Elrond's main library was littered with the histories of Middle-Earth. Above a center circle where the younger hobbits sat on a moss rug, the beams of cedar wood extended like the threads of a delicate web. Eight tall shelves lined the octagonal walls, along which were arranged (in no apparent order) various volumes, manuscripts and scrolls that the elven lord had collected throughout his ageless life. Gentle torchlight filtered down from above, mingling with the starlight that shone through the open ceiling. 

Aragorn and Gandalf soon found comfortable seats from one of the smaller libraries, and placed them near the fireplace. Weaving his way through a collection of disorganized maps and papers, Bilbo retrieved his stool from the corner and took out his long pipe. Lighting it, he searched the large pile for his pen and unfinished scroll.

"Whose turn is it to tell the story?" Pippin questioned. He cracked an almond from the small bowl of nuts by his elbow, talking between bites.

Aragorn glanced up from lighting his own pipe. "What, you've been reading one of the histories?" 

"Actually, we've been taking turns telling stories every night," Merry explained. "Last time, I did 'The Thief of Brandybuck Hall.' Before that it was Gandalf's turn, and he did 'Bandit on the Barrowdowns,' and it was Bilbo's before that, and his was 'Professional Burgling in Life-and- Death Situations,' Pippin told, 'Pickpocket: The Only Honest Way to Steal,' and Gloin did 'The Masked Raiders of the Lonely Mountain,' and even Master Elrond had one to tell."

"Let me guess," Aragorn interrupted, "Was it called 'Things Lost and Found Are Never Stolen?"

"No," Merry glanced at him quizzically, "It was about his trip to Lothlorien."

Nodding with understanding, Aragorn held the slim pipe between his fingers and blew gently. A relatively small ring formed at the tip of the pipe, and floated off into the room. Aragorn scowled with dissatisfaction, turning to throw a glare at Gandalf, who was trying unsuccessfully to choke back a laugh. The wizard blew on his own pipe, the gray smoke converging to form a rather large ring, with another smaller ring in the center. Smiling, he watched them float upwards through the ceiling. Not content to be outdone, Aragorn blew again, this time creating a smoke ring even larger than Gandalf's. But before he could return the triumphant smile, Sam's voice piped up from behind him. 

"Strider? What's this?" The hobbit was holding a thin wooden disk, covered with swirling elvish designs. There was also a bag of four stones, two black, and two white with markings. He placed them in Aragorn's lap.

"Oh. THAT," Gandalf looked over with a dry expression. "It's just a game the twins made up a long time ago. A very silly game, I might add." Leaning back into his armchair, the wizard dismissed the matter with a shrug. Pippin, Merry, and Frodo came over to see the board, gathering around Strider's chair.

"How do you play it?" Pippin asked. He shook the stones out of the bag, trying to arrange them on the board.

"Elladan and Elrohir used to play this game," Strider answered. "I watched them sometimes. It's called Pel Palan. I wonder if…" He looked up, scanning the bookshelves. "Frodo, can you reach that box over there?"

Nodding, Frodo retrieved the small box from the shelf. He opened it up, revealing the collection of paper scraps inside.

"What's that for?' Merry asked, taking the board off Strider's lap and setting it up on the rug. Pippin found a stool, but the other hobbits seated themselves around the board, looking up expectantly for Strider to join them. Ignoring the glare from Gandalf, Aragorn laid aside his pipe and came over to squat on the carpet. He took the box from Frodo.

"This box contains about 1,000 random facts that my step-brothers collected over the years. I'll show you how it works, but we're going to need teams because a lot of the stones are missing."

Pippin clapped his hands with excitement. "Oh! Let's have a competition! Merry and me can be together, and Frodo and Sam-"

"I'll just watch, I think," Frodo interrupted with a smile. He thought that four against one would be a little unfair, and that if he ended up on the winning side, Merry and Pippin were very sore losers. He also knew that they were even sorer winners. Instead of subjecting himself to either outcome, Frodo chose a large book from the shelf and sat down to read, in a position where he could still watch the competition. 

"A wise choice," Gandalf's voice rang with approval.

"What's wrong Gandalf?" Sam wondered, walking over to where the wizard sat with his tall hat pulled down over his eyes. "You don't know how to play?"

Gandalf made a choking noise, and puffed harder on his pipe. Arranging the rocks in the start position, Aragorn laughed.

"Oh, he plays alright. He plays very well."

He picked up the two white stones, cupped them in his hands, and rolled. 

"Alright, now you see," Pointing out the markings on the dice, Strider pushed the box over to Merry. "I answer first. Ask me the question on the front of the paper."

Merry picked up the first piece of paper. "Where are the Blue Mountains?"

"Ah!" Pippin clapped a hand over his mouth. "That's so easy!"

"In Eriador," Aragorn answered, moving his piece six spaces. He picked up the dice again. "Now since I rolled an even number, all even numbers from now on count for me, and all odd numbers count for you." Rolling the dice again, Strider counted the markings. "Your turn."

"How come we don't get to roll?" Merry demanded suddenly.

Sighing patiently, Strider picked up the box. "It doesn't matter who rolls because the numbers always come out randomly." He selected the next card. "What geographical features lie to the East of Erebor?"

"Ummmm..."

"Uhhhh-"

"That would be the Iron Hills," a deep voice rumbled behind them.

"Oh!" Pippin whirled in surprise, smiling with relief. "Thank you, Master Dwarf."

Unseen, one of the Lonely Mountain Dwarves had entered the library. Aragorn was mildly surprised; dwarves were not known for their abilities in stealth. Without asking for an invitation, the Dwarf sat down on the carpet, and asked if he could join the game. When Pippin agreed heartily, Aragorn smiled; dwarves were not known for their abilities in gaming either.

"What is your name again?" Pippin was saying.

"Gimli."

"Master Gimli the Dwarf?"

"No, just Gimli. Short and Simple."

"That is a short name and a very nice one too!" Merry said. "You can be on our team, Gimli."

The pieces were designed to move in a circle around the board, until they reached the finish spot in the center. Aragorn's piece already had six spaces, while the other was up to three. Strider rolled again, and the numbers came out even. This time, Gimli picked the card.

"What two rivers flow into the Sea of Rhun?"

"Celduin and Carnen," Aragorn answered quickly.

"Wrong."

"What?!"

Merry and Pippin noticed at the dismay on the Ranger's face as Gimli calmly explained, "There are no rivers flowing INTO the Sea; Celduin and Carnen both flow FROM the Sea."

"Hah!" As Pippin burst into a loud giggle, he leaned back so far that the stool he was sitting on toppled over, upsetting the board as it crashed to the floor. Pippin would have fallen too, but a pair of strong hands caught him and set him on his feet. From his place in the armchair, Gandalf chuckled softly, watching as they players scrambled to pick up the scattered cards and stones.

Glancing up at his helper, Pippin nodded gratefully.

"Thanks!"

"You are welcome."

The man had a deep Gondorian accent, but he was silent as he moved to help the others pick up the pieces. Merry righted the board again, and Gimli gathered up the spilt cards. As Aragorn was searching for the second black stone when the Gondorian man found it first.

"Here," the man handed it to him.

"Thank you," Aragorn replied curtly. It wasn't that he disliked Boromir, but ever since the outburst at the Council two months ago, the two had been on rather cool terms. Boromir seemed to avoid his company whenever possible, and Aragorn had endeavored to make it as easy as possible for him to do so. Nevertheless, he longed for at least a decent acquaintance with the man, for if Elrond's hints were correct (and they usually were) Boromir would be needed greatly in the impending quest. Aragorn wracked his brain for a way to approach the man.

*Hello, we need to be friends because I'm the man who's supposed to be King of Gondor. Incidentally, I'm going to have to take over your father's Stewardship too. Would you mind helping us destroy the Ring so that I can actually have a kingdom to rule?*

Several of the papers had been blown out of the library onto the veranda. Aragorn moved away from Boromir, still crawling, to retrieve them. Although the stars were bright above, the terrace was somewhat dark, and Aragorn relied mostly on touch to guide him to the papers. He gathered them up in his hands; eyes still bent on the ground went suddenly, his fingers brushed a soft surface that was not stone, or wood. He pushed gently, feeling the surface soften under his touch. Curiously, he squeezed it harder. It felt like the toe of someone's boot-

"Lost something?"

Aragorn nearly jumped out of his skin, falling back, he scrambled to his feet. The figure walked towards him, into the light. Then the tense expression on Aragorn's face faded in a smile, as he recognized the newcomer.

"Hello, Legolas."

"Hello." The Elf's face betrayed little emotion. "I heard Elrond sent you, Elladan, and Elrohir into Tharbad."

"Well yes," Shrugging apologetically, Aragorn tried to explain. "We split up after two days, my brothers had their own journey to pursue."

"I wasn't invited."

"Master Elrond thought you would be needed in the Mirkwood scouting party-"

"With Lindir? How thoughtful of him." Legolas interrupted coolly.

Aragorn feigned innocence. "What?"

"You heard what I said."

"That wasn't my idea. It was Elladan. He said you two were friends."

"And I'm sure you found the idea very amusing."

"There's nothing wrong with Lindir," Aragorn protested, "He just lacks a little experience." Motioning for the Elf to follow, Aragorn made to return to the library.

"A little experience?" Smirking, Legolas followed him. "You mean to say he is completely purged of anything that even slightly resembles experience by any stretch of imagination. He's such a sissy!" Legolas snorted, "He should have been born a girl!"

"Well you returned safe and in good health, so I guess it wasn't a problem," Aragorn grinned at his friend. Legolas glared back at him.

"Have you ever seen a Rivendell Elf lost in Mirkwood?"

"No."

"Then count yourself fortunate. And if it weren't for Caranthir, Rivendell would have been short one Elf today." Legolas always pronounced 'Caranthir' with an extra emphasis on the 'ran' which made it sound like 'CaRANthir', and which gave the name an irritating sound. Aragorn realized he was probably doing it on purpose.

"And why is that?"

"Because everyone but Caranthir wanted to leave him behind. And by the way, Caranthir, not I, was in charge of this mission. As it was, we wasted more time searching for Lindir than the Ringwraiths." 

Aragorn smiled, noting how Legolas switched the emphasis thing to Lindir's name. "How did you fare otherwise?"

Legolas sighed, as if he was weary of the subject. "We didn't see any sign of the Riders, which is good I suppose. And we tried to find the wizard Radagast, but he wasn't at home. I think he's gone to live in a tree somewhere."

Legolas laughed suddenly, as if the idea was absurd. Staring at him, Aragorn could not help pointing out, "You used to live in a tree, you know."

Merry, Pippin, and Gimli were starting to wonder what was taking so long, when Aragorn returned to the library with the Elf called Legolas behind him. Frodo looked up from his book, surprised to see that Legolas was joining them. After the Council, most of the elves from the other realms had gone home. Frodo had not had much chance to be acquainted with any of them, but he was pleased that Legolas had returned. The hobbit did not know him well, but the Elf seemed to be good friends with Strider, and although he rarely conversed with the hobbits, he seemed friendly toward them also. Legolas nodded to them courteously, but did not speak, instead flopping down into an armchair beside Gandalf. Aragorn squatted on the rug again, and the hobbits crowded around him. They had been concocting a plan in his absence.

"We think that Gimli should roll, because that would be fairer," Pippin began.

"It's fair already!" Strider protested.

"Actually," Gandalf called from the fireplace, "I have a few discrepancies about that game myself. How do we really know that you're being fair?"

"Was that a rhetorical question?" Aragorn countered sharply. "Because if you have a problem, you're going to have to take it up with my brothers when they get back. I can teach you how to play, but I'm not going to be responsible for every COMPLAINT you throw at me."

"We're not complaining?" Merry answered quickly, "We just think someone else should be allowed to roll."

"It's against the rules!"

"RULES?" Gandalf's voice rose to a crescendo, "WHAT RULES?! The game has none!"

Gimli, still in control of his temper, turned a calm stare on Aragorn. "What are the rules, Aragorn?"

"Look," Aragorn handed the box to Merry, "I'm going to demonstrate to you how FAIR this game is, when you know how to play it. If you have any questions, just raise your hand. Now watch me closely. I roll the die." He cast the two white stones up in the air. Immediately, Pippin raised a hand. 

"First of all, how do we know those die weren't tampered with? What if the markings were set to come out even 90% of the time? What if you're using elvish magic on them?"

Aragorn blew out a breath of frustration. "Look, let me finish my demonstration before you start accusing me. The die HAVEN'T been tampered with, and there is no magic involved. So the number comes up…even. Ask me your question." 

Sighing in defeat, Merry picked up a card. "Blue Mountains, White Mountains…"

"Gray Mountains." Chuckling, Strider moved his piece four spaces forward.

Merry frowned, staring at the board. Suddenly he raised his hand.

"What if you had gotten it wrong?"

"I didn't."

"But if you had?" Gimli prodded him. 

"Then I wouldn't have moved."

"But shouldn't you get a deduction if you miss? You should get one for missing the Sea of Rhun question."

"No I should not. But if you want to do deductions, we can." Strider moved his piece back two spaces. "But if I have to do deductions, so do you. Gimli answered your first question, and he wasn't officially on your team them, so you should only get half credit for it."

"What?" Pippin protested. "You can't do that! How can you get half credit for three moves?"

"Take your piece back one and a half spaces."

Covering the piece with his hand, Pippin refused to budge. "No! It's not fair. You keep changing the rules!"

"You wanted deductions."

"But you're not playing right!"

Shaking his head, Gandalf took another puff of his pipe. "I told you it wasn't a good idea. That game is mindless and ridiculous. Just like the elflings who made it," he added in an undertone. Aragorn's quick ear caught the remark.

"Only losers put holes in the game, Gandalf." he retorted, turning to confront the wizard.

"And only winners defend it," the wizard replied, leaning forward, and putting aside his pipe. His eyes lit up, as if relishing the impending argument. Ignoring the protests of Merry and Pippin, Strider abandoned the game and walked over to Gandalf.

"I understand now, you're just angry because I beat you in the smoke ring contest."

Gandalf raised a busy eyebrow. "Now that, I do not recall."

With a wink at Strider, Gandalf picked up his pipe again and blew the largest smoke ring of the night.

"Now, Aragorn, beat THAT."

The Ranger smiled with anticipation. "It will be my pleasure."

Frodo was trying to concentrate on his book, but the noise was becoming very distracting. Abandoning Nimrodel to her fate, he looked up for something else to occupy him. Spotting the Elf alone in the corner, reading, he decided to try conversing with him. Frodo walked up behind his chair and cleared his throat. The Elf's eyes flicked up, and he smiled shortly.

"Hello."

"Mae govannen," Frodo answered. The Elf returned the smile. "Is your name Legolas?" 

"Yes." He seemed uncomfortable, or loathed to be disturbed.

*I know he's not shy,* Frodo thought inwardly, *He said enough for three people at the Council.* Maybe the Elf just wanted some peace and quiet, Frodo concluded. Or perhaps something was bothering him. Or someone…Frodo looked over the room, stopping when his eyes fell on the dwarf. He seemed to be ignoring them both.

Legolas' face was slightly flushed, and Frodo wondered if he was sick.

"Are you feeling well? Your face is very red."

Legolas looked up, startled. "Is it? The smoke makes it hard to breathe in here, that's all," he threw a glance at Gandalf and Aragorn, who were puffing away on their pipes and ignoring everyone else. Frodo nodded understandingly.

"What are you reading?" 

Frodo turned to see Sam standing behind him, but he was staring at the Elf. 

"I'm reading one of the tales of Beren and Luthien," the Elf answered Sam. "Did you ever read it?"

Sam shook his head slowly. Even though he had spent nearly two months in Rivendell, he was still enthralled when he saw any of the elves, and even more ecstatic if they actually spoke to him. Often his curiosity got the better of him, and he would blurt out things he had never even meant to say. Then a few seconds later, his mouth would tell his mind what was going on. In that way, the mouth sometimes went on and on without Sam knowing anything about it. Then his mind would have to deal with the embarrassment that came later. So he was not very surprised when Legolas turned a questioning glance on him, asking him to repeat his question.

"Who were Beren and Luthien? Did you know them?" Sam blurted out before he could catch himself. Grimacing inwardly, he waited for the Elf to laugh at him.

Legolas smiled, but didn't laugh. "No, I didn't know them. They lived a long time ago. But in this story, Luthien helps Beren escape the house of Tevildo, one of the ancient cats. Beren was a prisoner there, and the only one who got out alive, except for Gimli, the gnome."

"What's a gnome?" asked Frodo curiously.

"A gnome is…" Legolas lay the book aside, and his eyes grew mischievous. "A gnome is a small, stunted creature with wrinkly skin and squinty eyes. They live in caves underground and rarely come out into the sun. Most gnomes live in groups, and spend their time digging for rocks in the earth. They are very gruff, very rude, and very ugly. So they grow big bushes of hair because they are ashamed to have anyone see their faces. Now this Gimli was an especially old gnome because he had lived with Tevildo for so long, so he was the smallest, and wrinkliest of all the gnomes that every walked the earth. By the time Beren and Luthien rescued him, none of his friends were able to recognize him anymore."

      Sam's eyes had grown wide with sympathy as the Elf was speaking, and finally he burst out, "Oh poor Gimli! What ever became of him?"

Legolas shrugged.  "No one knows. The story doesn't say," he leaned forward, his elvish eyes sparkled even more, "But I have heard, that gnomes can live a very, very long time."

Sam gasped and turned to stare at Gimli, who was still playing with Merry and Pippin. Frodo's face turned red as he realized what the Elf was implying, and he stared at the Elf in disbelief.

In the absence of Strider, Pippin and Merry were busy reorganizing the game. Merry was adding more spaces to the board, and Gimli was searching for better playing pieces. Deciding to rewrite some of the questions, Pippin went into the other library for some books on the Shire he had found. As he came back in he passed Legolas' chair, where Sam and Frodo were conversing with the Elf in hushed tones. As he passed, they paused and then lowered their voices. Still, Pippin managed to catch the words 'Bevildo,' 'Erin,' and 'Gnome.' Bemused, he stacked the pile of books on the carpet, and pulled his stool over to Gimli. The Dwarf had discovered some Mountain Gems in the pocket of his tunic, and he placed them on the board.

"Gimli?"

"Yes, Master Pippin?"

"What's a gnome?"

Gimli glanced at him quizzically. "A gnome is an Elf. Why?"

"Just wondering," Pippin shrugged, and picked up the dice. 

To Be Concluded…..

Tomorrow Night, Because I need my Copy of the Hobbit, but I just discovered (at 1:22 in the morning) that I lent it to a friend. Silly of me. So look for the rest before Valentines Day. Tatafornow.


	2. Chapter Two: Many Meetings Continued and...

Author's Note: PLEASE READ. I should talk; I always skip the Author's Notes. Okay, this was originally supposed to be a single-chapter, but I couldn't help myself, so just consider it one story. This story draws from both the book and the movie. If you hadn't noticed, I referred to the scene in the movie where Legolas tells Boromir who Aragorn is.  However, then I went back to the book, because it is really Elrond who decides who is going to be in the Fellowship. As of yet, most don't have a clue about anything, and they don't know each other very well. By the way, unless you have a very good memory it may be helpful to go back and skim Chapter One, because this is, after all, a continuation of that.

Disclaimer: Tolkien created Middle-Earth, and we're very glad he did. However from time to time, our minds are set free to roam in it, and our imaginations run wild. Then strange things happen. We write these things down, and post them on fan fiction for you to enjoy. 

Many Meetings

Continued and Concluded

"Does anyone want to proofread my book?"

Bilbo repeated the question, glancing around the room. Frodo and Sam were deep in conversation with that wood elf from the Council, and Merry, Pippin, and Gimli were still playing Pel Palan. As for Aragorn and Gandalf, Bilbo could barely see them for the smoke that surrounded both their chairs. That left only Boromir, the man from Gondor. Bilbo spotted Boromir over in the farthest corner of the room, standing as if he was trying to blend in with the woodwork. Although not at all intimidated by the man, Bilbo knew that Boromir was a little in awe of him and of hobbits in general. And no wonder, for there was little else but men, men, and more men in the lands to the South, unless you counted the Orcs, which Bilbo did not.

*Orcs are probably the only other race Boromir had ever met, before he came here,* Bilbo thought. It was probably quite overwhelming. Besides the elves, who were legendary in their own right, there were hobbits, dwarves, a wizard, and a Ranger.

*And a very strange Ranger, at that. He's more an Elf than a Man. I hope that Boromir and the Dunadan will be friends, though.*

The last thought sprang from a conversation he had had with Elrond earlier that day. Although Elrond had not told him outright, he had casually mentioned who he was considering to accompany Frodo. Bilbo was out of the picture, but he knew that Gandalf surely would be going, and Boromir was going that way anyway. Aragorn would be going with Boromir to Minas Tirith, for he had said so at the Council. Bilbo was not blinder than anyone else, and he had not failed to notice the friction between the two men. And he had not been the only one to wonder how exactly they were planning to overthrow Sauron together, when they could barely shake hands. Bilbo harrumphed softly to himself. Dunadan and Boromir had appeared friendly enough at the Council, but afterwards had studiously avoided each other's presence. Bilbo could count on his fingers the number of phrases the two had between them. The two-month stay in Rivendell had done little to improve their relationship, and besides, Dunadan had been traveling most of the time. In light of these facts, Bilbo felt that Boromir needed to be drawn into the circle, so he approached the man cautiously.

"Do you want to proofread my book for me?"

Boromir looked startled; he stared down at the hobbit in surprise.

"You're writing a book?"

"Yes. There and Back Again: A Hobbit's Tale by Bilbo Baggins, would you care to read it?" Holding up the book, Bilbo beckoned him to take a seat.

"Does it have anything to do with thieving, stealing, pickpockets, or masked raiders?" Boromir asked tentatively, still riveted to his corner.

"Not much," Bilbo replied, smiling. 

Boromir smiled back with relief. "Thank goodness." He came to sit down in the chair, and Bilbo pulled up a small footstool beside him and stood on it, looking to see if anyone was paying attention.

"Boromir is going to proofread my book," he shouted loudly enough to be heard over the noise, "Would you mind playing that game somewhere else?"

Pippin looked up from the game. "Oh! Boromir hasn't told a story yet, has he? Come on, Merry, let's finish this later."

Putting the playing pieces aside, Merry and Pippin came over, followed by Gimli. Sam, Frodo, and Legolas joined them to form a semi- circle around Boromir's chair. Suddenly nervous, Boromir was getting second thoughts about reading when Gandalf and Aragorn halted their contest to come over. Aragorn said something like, "This should be interesting." And he probably meant it. But to Boromir's suspicious mind it sounded derisive and condescending. He struggled to control the sudden frustration that welled up within him. The Ranger always seemed to do everything in his power to make sure that Boromir knew he was still in second place. Boromir grimaced; this was the man who was going to accompany him to Minas Tirith? He tried not to think of what his father's reaction would be when he came marching home with the heir of Isildur in tow. The REAL King of Gondor.

*My, Boromir, I know we need help, but this is not exactly what I was expecting…*

"Boromir?"

Shaking himself out of his reverie, Boromir opened to the first page. He cleared his throat.

"Chapter One. Concerning Hobbits. In a hole in the ground-"

"Skip that part," Bilbo interrupted, "I'm not quite finished with it. Go to Chapter Nine."

"Alright," slightly bemused, Boromir leafed through the pages. "Chapter Nine. Barrels Out of Bond," Raising an eyebrow at the title, he continued, "The day after the battle with the spiders, Bilbo and the dwarves made one last despairing effort to find a way out, before they died of hunger and thirst. They got up and staggered on in the direction of which eight to thirteen of them guessed to be the one in which the path lay. But they never found out if they were right. Such day as there ever was in the forest was fading once more into the blackness of night, when suddenly out sprang the light of many torches all round them, like hundreds of red stars. Out leapt the woodelves with their bows and spears and called the dwarves to halt. There was no thought of a fight. Even in the dwarves had not been in such a state that they were actually glad to be captured, their small knives, the only weapons they had, would have been of no use against the arrows of the elves-"

Gimli cleared his throat, interrupting Boromir. "Excuse me, but I think you need to correct that part, Master Bilbo."

"What?" Bilbo blinked, looking slightly confused. "What part?"

"About the knives. They weren't small at all. They were large and deadly weapons."

"To a feeble dwarf, perhaps they were," Legolas mumbled. "They seemed pretty small to me."

Sam turned to face him, a look of surprise on his face. "You were there?"

"Of course he wasn't!" Gimli harrumphed from Sam's left. "He's only repeating what he's heard."

Indignantly, Legolas glared at the dwarf. "Who are you to say I was or wasn't there? You weren't there, for certain! You were barely two hundred!"

"Barely two hundred? I'm not even fifty yet!" Pippin squealed in disbelief. 

"But Legolas," Sam furrowed his brown in confusion, "How could he only be 200 when you said he was a gno-"

"Never mind what I said," Legolas cut him off. "He wasn't there and I was, and everything happened just like Bilbo wrote it."

Boromir sat with the book in his lap, watching the exchange in silence. It was slightly confusing, and he had no idea what the book was about, or who the dwarves were, or why they were in the forest at all. He wished that Bilbo had let him start at the beginning. 

"Shall I finish?" Boromir asked abruptly, cutting short the argument. 

Bilbo nodded, and Legolas and Gimli fell silent, although the dwarf was still far from satisfied with the text. Boromir began again.

"The arrows of the elves that could hit a bird's eye in the dark. So they simply stopped dead and sat down and waited." He looked up at Bilbo, pointing at a blank space on the page. "What goes here?"

Bilbo came to look over his shoulder, peering through the rim of his glasses. "Oh, that's just a little something about the Ring that I haven't written yet. You can skip it."

Shrugging, Boromir read, "Bilbo had all he could do to keep up with the torches, for the elves were making the dwarves go as fast as ever they could, sick and weary as they were. The king-"

"Now wait a minute." This time it was Legolas who interrupted. "First of all, they weren't sick and weary, they were fat and lazy. They were fat from barging into our feasts and eating our food and then running off. So if you want to say they were sick and weary, at least say they were sick from stolen food, and they were weary from running on a full stomach." The Elf studiously ignored the warning look Aragorn was giving him, instead choosing to direct his comment toward Boromir. "You're making it sound like they were slave drivers. You should rephrase that." 

Uncomfortable under the Elf's gaze, Boromir was making a talk-to-Bilbo-about-it face, when Gimli spoke up again.

"Whatever happened to, 'Everything happened just like Bilbo wrote it?" he reminded Legolas, imitating the Elf's voice as he quoted him. Gimli's voice being naturally deep and gruff, it sounded very strange, and the hobbits giggled.

Ignoring them, Legolas turned a cold stare on Gimli. "You are Gloin's son, Gimli right?"

Gimli smiled cheekily in response. "How did you guess?"

"You have his face," came the flat answer. "And the mouth that goes with it."

Gimli growled, and Bilbo shifted uncomfortably in his chair. 

*Oh dear,* he thought. *Silly of me, he's a wood elf; of course he would have been there or heard about it. Gloin's son and Thranduil's heir in the same room, and then I have to bring up their history! And to think I was trying to bring everyone together.*

"How would you know about my father's face? I don't believe we ever met."

"Your father met my father and I was there. That was after we paid the dwarves to ruin our palace."

"Ruin? After you elves moved in, there wasn't anything left to ruin! And the dwarves never got paid for their work anyway!"

Bilbo sighed. *Elves and dwarves. They really are good people…as long as you keep them apart. I hope Boromir isn't getting the wrong idea about them.* He glanced up at Boromir, who was starting to look very annoyed. *I guess he is.*

"And to think," Gimli sighed wistfully. "If you wood elves weren't so selfish about your gold, we two might have been friends."

"It was not the elves who started the disagreement," Legolas protested.

"I have not heard that it was the dwarves who-"

"I have heard both," Gandalf interrupted sternly. "And I have heard quite enough from you two tonight. If we went into all the grievances between elves and dwarves, we would be here for a lifetime. So if you two, Legolas and Gimli, could at least PRETEND to be friends, we can have a little PEACE and QUIET, and perhaps Boromir will finish his story?" Glaring meaningfully at both of them, Gandalf settled back into his chair. Although none of the others knew, Legolas and Gimli were being considered as part of the Fellowship that would accompany Frodo on his journey to destroy the Ring. In fact, it was Gandalf himself who had recommended Gimli, and Aragorn who had suggested sending Legolas. They had approached Elrond at exactly the same time, and while the Elf Lord knew well the animosity between the Thranduil and the dwarves, he also valued the opinions of Aragorn and Gandalf. Reluctant to make a decision so swiftly, Elrond had promised to consider both nominations. Gandalf sighed, puffing on his pipe. If Legolas and Gimli could not even talk to each other for thirty seconds without arguing, how would they ever last the months, perhaps years it would take to complete the Quest? 

*If only they could forget about that little incident in Mirkwood…*

Gandalf believed that Gimli tried very, very hard to avoid fighting with Legolas. He also knew that Legolas did not try nearly as hard as he could, and was way too fond of arguing to be totally guiltless of causing trouble. He was a relatively young Elf, largely devoid of anything related to prudence, but filled to overflowing with every kind of mischief. Gimli, on the other hand, was middle-aged, by dwarven standards, and more mature than most other dwarves of his age were. Besides, his father was Gloin, a very respectable and honorable dwarf. Patience and Prudence were two qualities that seemed to elude the dwarven race, but Gloin seemed to have developed both over the years, and passed them on to his son. All of these facts had culminated in Gandalf's decision to suggest Gimli as a member of the Fellowship.

He watched the dwarf from under hooded eyes, as Boromir continued to read. Several times Gimli shifted uncomfortably, as if wanting to suggest an improvement, but then remembering Gandalf's reprimand he bit his tongue and waited. Boromir's reading was becoming slower and more hesitant, as if he was beginning to lose his focus. They endured this for a while in silence, but the hobbits soon began to yawn, and the dwarf's beard sank lower and lower upon his chest, and Legolas' eyes grew distant and hazy. 

*He's asleep.* Aragorn thought with a smirk. Struggling to keep his own eyes open, he shifted his position. *Sleeping with your eyes open can be very convenient sometimes, Legolas. You must be tired out from devising all those insults to poor Gimli. Very immature of you to argue over such nonsense, I thought you were above all that.*

Aragorn sincerely believed that Legolas tried very, very hard to avoid fighting with Gimli. He also knew that dwarves could be very hard to get along with, especially when they interrupted your games and started changing the rules…

Aragorn thought Legolas more mature than most elves his age; he was well trained in the art of the blade, and deadly with the bow. Growing up a prince in Mirkwood had made him more responsible, serious, and commanding; Aragorn remembered well the first time Legolas had visited Imladris, and how disgusted he had been at the 'pampered' life that Elladan and Elrohir lived, in comparison to his own. He liked to call them the two 'pink daisies' and often avoided their company, preferring to spend his time with Aragorn and the Rangers. Only a few years before, the children of Elrond had lost their mother to the Sea, and yet they were still grieving. Elrond's best efforts at comfort and consolation did little to ease the pain they felt, and Aragorn remembered his father was greatly concerned that he might lose his children to grief as well. When Legolas came, Aragorn feared that his taunts and tricks would cause the situation to worsen. But in fact, it was Legolas' annoying, impudent, persistence that dragged the twins out of that bottomless well of despair. They called him a 'nuisance' and a 'menace,' but when the month was up begged him to stay for longer. Instead, Legolas invited the 'daisies' to Mirkwood for a visit, an invitation they enthusiastically accepted. Aragorn was not invited. The details of that trip were never revealed to him, but in the months that followed it was more than evident that the twins had become 'Mirkwoodized' and the Rivendell elves noticed they were beginning to take on some strange habits, such as dressing in green and brown, and spending their nights singing to the beech trees. Aragorn discovered the changes in other ways, especially when in the months that followed a whole new series of pranks was played on him, ones with strong implications of a certain young Elf prince…

Absently he wondered where the twins were now, and how far they were from home. It was not unusual that they would be the last to arrive; they had told him their destination was far and that it might be many months before they would meet again.

 Aragorn thoughts slowly came back to the present, and he realized that Boromir had stopped reading. Bilbo was lying asleep on his footstool, apparently satisfied with the reading (if the huge, sleepy smile on his face was anything to go by.) Pippin had cradled his head in his arms and was snoring soundly, but Merry, Frodo, and Sam were still mostly awake, looking expectantly at Boromir.

"Do you mind if I stop now? I'm not quite understanding this, and the script is hard to read. What is a Smaug anyway?"

He mumbled the last question to himself, not expecting anyone to answer.

"First of all, its not 'a Smaug," Aragorn, overhearing, corrected him. "Smaug is a name, and the name belongs to a dragon."

Instead of thanking him, Boromir asked another question. "I suppose you have seen much of Middle- Earth, being a Ranger and everything?"

"Yes," Aragorn shrugged, dismissing it. "I'm pretty well traveled."

"Did you ever come to Gondor?"

Aragorn looked at him sharply, his eyes suspicious. "Not often. Why?"

Boromir shrugged. "I just wondered why you would, since you seem to have so little interest in your own people. I was surprised you offered to come back with me."

"I offered because Gondor is my kingdom," Aragorn answered stiffly, striving to control his rising temper. Boromir, on the other hand, seemed as subdued as ever, and even a little mystified.

"Your kingdom?" he echoed slowly, "When last I recalled, my father was ruling it, and you were roaming the Wild."

Slamming the book shut, he folded his arms and looked away, signifying the end of the conversation.

        Sam looked around the room, surveying each of its occupants in turn. There was Gandalf, hunched over in his chair, trying desperately to look as if he were not asleep, when he really was. Merry and Frodo were stretched out comfortably beside Sam, scraping the bowl for any fragments nut that Pippin had neglected to eat. Aragorn was staring at Boromir, apparently trying to think of something important to say. Boromir was staring at Legolas, who was slumped against Gandalf's chair, and staring at nobody. Sam looked closer, noticing that the Elf's eyes weren't even focused at all. He shivered slightly, not because he was afraid but because the expression looked so…unnatural.

"Legolas?"

The Elf blinked, and focused on him in the same instant. 

"What?" 

Sam tried desperately to remember what it was he wanted to say. All that came out was:

"Now! We're all here finally. Home, I mean…"

"We are?"

Sam nodded, sighing inwardly. *Someday, I'll get this talking thing right.*

"Actually, we're not," Aragorn commented quietly. "My brothers are still missing."

"You have brothers?" Frodo asked, looking up in surprise.

Aragorn shrugged. "Yes, step-brothers. They are Elrond's sons. They went into Tharbad with me."

"Where are they now?" Merry wondered. 

"I don't know."

Frodo noted the concerned look in Strider's eyes. He spoke up hopefully, "Maybe they'll come back tonight."

"I doubt it."

Merry shook his head in disagreement. "You never know Strider. What if they come back tonight and you're not awake to see them?"

When Strider didn't answer, and continued to look distant, Merry added. "Maybe we should stay up and see if they get back."

At the hobbit's suggestion, Aragorn smiled, not because it was a good idea, but because he knew they were trying to cheer him up. When he was not traveling, it was his natural inclination to get moody as the night grew late, but usually everyone knew to steer clear of him then. Somehow the fact that others were awake prevented him from retiring. Aragorn had a self-imposed duty to always be the last one of his family awake, no matter how late he had to stay up to do it. But the hobbits were looking wide-awake now, and Legolas was awake, and he'd never tried to outdo a hobbit or a Mirkwood Elf before.

"Are you sure you want to stay up?" he asked innocently. "You don't have to. I can watch for them on my own."

Merry shrugged, looking to Frodo and Sam. "We're not really tired. We'll stay up with you."

*Great.*

"Thank you, I'd really appreciate that." He turned a sidelong glance at Legolas. "You're not staying up too, are you?"

Legolas was still leaning against Gandalf's chair, and he drew his legs up into a cross-legged position. Slowly sliding a large pillow from under Gandalf's elbow, he sat on it, shifting until he was in a comfortable position. 

"Why shouldn't we stay up? The twins should be back soon, I think. I have a guess as to where they might have gone," his eyes sparkled, as if he had just discovered a great secret.

"So," Merry turned to Aragorn. "How do you plan on staying awake, Strider? Should we read another story?"

"No," Legolas answered quickly, "Anything but that," he added with a small smile.

"What if Frodo sang that nice elvish song we learned on the way from Hobbiton?" Sam suggested.

Frodo blushed slightly at the mention of it, shrugging the compliment away. "That was just a silly song Sam. Besides, why should a hobbit sing an elvish song, when we have a real elf to sing one?"

Legolas shook his head, as the hobbits turned to him expectantly. "No, I'm not, I mean, my throat isn't right for singing so late. It's a little sore," he tried to explain, turning red as Aragorn turned a suspicious stare on him. Obviously, the man was not convinced.

The real truth was that the Elf was not used to singing in front of strangers aka Boromir, and he was definitely not going to sing while a dwarf was in the room. Especially when that dwarf happened to be Gimli. 

"Aragorn can sing," Legolas suggested, trying to draw attention away from himself. Aragorn glared at him, snatching up a book from a small table nearby, and tried to appear innocent of the conversation. The hobbits looked rather dejected, because they had already heard Strider sing, and somehow it didn't sound quite so…pleasing. Instead, Merry suggested they play another round of Pel Palan.

Aragorn barely suppressed a groan of dismay, burying his face deeper into the book. Well, maybe Boromir would convince them to go to bed.

"In my country…" Boromir said on cue, and Aragorn stalled his grumblings to listen.

"In my country, when a bunch of us are on watch late at night, we play a game to stay awake," he spoke wistfully, as if talking to himself. "Someone starts a story and each person adds his part until it is complete. No one can tell anyone else what to say, and we all have to use the same character. The stories usually come out pretty interesting."

Aragorn gripped the book tightly as Boromir talked. *No, NO, NOOOO. This is NOT supposed to happen! This is all WRONG! NOBODY stays up later than ME!*

 But the hobbits were eager to play; so Boromir agreed to show them how.

"I'll start, and then we can go in a circle, alright?" As the hobbits nodded eagerly, Boromir rested his head on his hands, massaging his temples. 

The rules of the game stated that each player could only contribute a few sentences.

"Eldacar was a man with no family, but many friends. He lived alone in a house, and no one was allowed to come inside, but he would often come out to see the other villagers and speak with them. Eldacar always gave them advice whenever they asked for it, but he never asked for anything."

Thoughtfully, Merry listened until Boromir was finished. Then he took his turn. "Eldacar always tried to cheer up his friends when they were sad. He always made the best jokes at parties, and the funniest stories. In fact, he seemed so glad all the time that people thought he never cried, and he never hurt or felt pain."

When Merry finished, Frodo opened his mouth to speak, but suddenly Gimli straightened up and opened his eyes, as if he had never been sleeping at all, just listening quietly. He looked apologetic for interrupting, but Frodo only smiled and encouraged him to continue. Staring at the floor, Gimli began. "Eldacar was very fond of children, and would often stop to play with them on the way home from his work in the village. Because Eldacar lived alone and had no one to provide for, he used little of the money he made, and so began to save it. Soon he grew to be very rich, and then he began to fear that someone would try to steal from him. He didn't want anyone to be… tempted, so he locked the money away in a secret place."

"Some people thought," Frodo began hesitantly, "Some people thought that Eldacar didn't trust them anymore, and that he was a miser. He was so worried about the money that he had a hard time thinking about anything else. He kept all his troubles to himself and rarely asked for advice, although he needed it dearly. People wondered at the change in Eldacar, for they could not see his inner conflict. Less and less often he left his house, because he afraid to leave his wealth unattended. Soon, it was his only companion."

Then Aragorn contributed to the story. "Eldacar knew it was his duty to face his friends again, but he also knew that he had a bad reputation by now. So he continued to debate about whether or not he should go out, because he felt unworthy for leaving those who needed him most."

Legolas, looking purposefully at Aragorn, added, "But what he didn't know, was that the people only missed him, and wanted him to come back. Although they seemed to despise him, there were those who longed for his advice and friendship. But to them, he appeared haughty, selfish, and uncaring. It was a simple misunderstanding, but complex to solve, because neither party was willing to speak up first. This continued for many generations, and still Eldacar remained in confinement."

Aragorn tried to avoid his gaze. *Dropping hints, are we?*

Legolas was about to reply to the unspoken comment when Gandalf (who had woken long ago) decided to add his perspective to the story.

"One day some of the village children passed by Eldacar's house, which they had not seen for many, many years. The building was overgrown with vines and weeds, and had long since been deserted. Eldacar was nowhere to be found, and no one ever heard of or saw him again. In fact, some people began to believe that he had never been there at all, and this is what has been told to generations since."

Legolas smirked at Aragorn. *And you accused me of dropping hints?*

Dissatisfied, Sam frowned in disagreement. "Why would anyone forget about him? They knew he was there. Maybe he just left for a while."

Gandalf shook his head. "People tend to believe only what they can see, Sam. That is their natural course."

"But what about the things they can't see? They are just as real as the others, aren't they? I didn't use to believe in elves and dwarves, but they were still real." 

He felt Gimli shift beside him, and the dwarf chuckled softly. "How ridiculous. Not believing in dwarves and elves? I've never heard of such a thing!"

"I didn't believe in dwarves until I met one," Legolas mumbled.

"I had never seen a Halfling before, until I came here," Boromir interrupted calmly. By now he had learned how to predict the signs of an argument, and how to avoid one. Boromir threw a warning glance at the Elf, then looked at Aragorn. "And I didn't know that Rangers still inhabited the North."

*And that our King chose exile, along with them.* 

Aragorn read the meaning in Boromir's eyes, but this time he didn't look away.

*I am sorry, Boromir. I know I have failed my people.*

The others watched this silent exchange, but the two men seemed not to notice the observation.

"I didn't know that Sauron was a real person," Frodo murmured suddenly. "He seemed as far off as the dragon in Bilbo's story."

Boromir glanced at the Halfling. "He is not so elusive anymore. It is strange that, although we in Gondor strove to protect those who lived beyond Sauron's shadow, we never knew who we were protecting in the first place." 

"Or who you weren't," Legolas added. "Sauron is not our only enemy."

"Saruman too," Gandalf agreed solemnly. "I never thought he would betray the Maia. None of us did, really. It seems those who you trusted most, should have been trusted least."

"Unlikely enemies," Aragorn replied. Merry blew out a breath of frustration.

"What a hopeless picture. Why does everything have to be hopeless all the time? Why do some people want to do right, and some people want to do wrong?" He looked up at Legolas and Strider. "If Frodo destroys the Ring, will everyone want to do right?"

Legolas smiled understandingly. "People have free-will. If eliminating the Ring destroys that will then yes, I guess everyone will act the same way. But if their will is tied to the Ring, then it was never free in the first place."  

He stopped at a noise from Gimli that sounded like a cough. Sam had been talking to him all this while, and suddenly Gimli burst out laughing in the middle of the conversation, barely restraining himself from falling over. He looked as if he were about to say something to Legolas, but looking at the Elf only made him laugh harder. Sam, looking slightly guilty, tried to explain.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Legolas, I just had to ask him if he really was Gimli the gnome from the story you read about Beren and Luthien." 

Aragorn saw the Elf tense and inwardly sighed, recognizing the signs of yet another argument brewing. 

*Now this is exactly why we will not win this war, because no one can cooperate with anyone else -* Aragorn felt a pang of conscience. * No, Boromir does not count. Besides, he is the one who avoids me, not the other way around. And furthermore -*

He chanced a wary glance at Legolas, wondering how the Elf would retaliate. *If Legolas can't even say a few civil words about the dwarf, let alone to him, and I've barely spoken to Boromir since the Council, the four of us would probably be more of a burden than a help. Everyone says it is vital that we cooperate, but they don't understand the situation. How will I be able to win my own kingdom back, if I can't even win the hearts of my people? They've been ruled by the Stewards for hundreds of years, and suddenly they're going to accept this total stranger who comes out of the middle of nowhere and claims to be their king?* He frowned and looked at Legolas again, wondering why the Elf was smiling at him. *He's laughing at me? No, he's laughing at…the dwarf? What? Is he insane? Overtired? Wait, he's laughing…with the dwarf?*

While Frodo winced inwardly, hoping he would stop, Sam tried to explain what Legolas had told him. "Legolas was reading the story about Beren and Luthien escaping from Tevildo, and how Gimli that gnome had been a prisoner there for many years. His hair was overgrown and his skin was all wrinkly with warts and none of his friends could recognize him. He said that gnomes live underground and dig for treasure with other gnomes, and that they hardly every come outside." Sam's speech was puncuated with loud bursts of laughter from Legolas and Gimli, while the others stared at them, bemused. "He said that gnomes can live for thousands of years too," Sam added, wondering what was so funny.

"Well that, at least, is true," Gandalf interrupted, with a reproving glare at Legolas.

The Elf pretended not to see him, rocking back on his pillow and laughing even harder. The only thing was that Legolas never really laughed, and that his laugh could not really be classified as 'a laugh' because it wasn't. The sound that came from the Elf's mouth was more of a high-pitched, high-powered giggle that sounded so ridiculous, that even Gandalf, accustomed as he was to dealing with strange things, did a double take.

"Legolas, are you alright?"

The Elf nodded the affirmative, still laughing uncontrollably. Gimli, meanwhile, continued to chuckle, hoping the Elf was laughing with him, not at him. The gnome story was pretty funny, Gimli admitted to himself, especially because-

"Legolas?" Aragorn said hesitantly. "You realize you are laughing with a dwarf?"

Legolas nodded again.

"And that's, alright with you?"

The Elf threw him the best what-a-stupid-question look he could manage.

"Of course you know," Gandalf informed Sam, "That real gnomes are very tall, although they do happen to have a lot of hair. So there was a grain of truth in that mountain of fiction he told you."

"What is a gnome then, Gandalf?" Sam wondered, trying to picture it in his mind.

"A gnome is an Elf, of course."

"WHAT?!" Legolas nearly choked.

A long moment of stunned silence ensued, that was finally broken by Gimli.

"Well of course, you knew that didn't you?" Gimli asked the Elf curiously, but Legolas only stared in disbelief. "Apparently not. Never you mind, Master Elf." He smiled cheekily, "We'll make sure everyon- uh, no one hears about your huge blunder." 

Merry choked back a laugh and tried to appear apologetic. He realized that the Elf was probably terribly embarrassed, especially in front of all these people he barely knew. "It's alright Legolas, we won't tell. We promise."

Sam nodded in agreement. "It'll be a secret, between friends." He looked up at the others for confirmation. "Right?"

Aragorn grimaced. *Of all the words one might use to describe us, 'friends' isn't exactly the one I would choose. Something like, 'strange, unlikely people in a strange, unlikely situation' would probably be more on target…*

He looked over at Boromir, whose face echoed the same sentiments. Before Aragorn could speak, the man swiftly looked away into another corner of the room. 

"Strange, unlikely people who can't even define their real adversary," the Ranger murmured to himself. "You are fighting the wrong enemy, Boromir." *Aragorn. Legolas. Gimli.*

Ignoring the pang of conscience, Aragorn looked down, only to see the dejected expression on Sam's face. "Right? Everyone?"

Aragorn sighed and didn't answer.

"Right, Master Samwise," the dwarf said loudly, startling even himself.

Aragorn turned to stare at Gimli, who only raised an eyebrow at him. "Any reasons why not?" he glared at each of them in turn.

Smiling slowly, Aragorn shook his head. "Not even one." He turned to Boromir, who nodded slowly. 

"It's very late," Boromir commented to Aragorn. "Do you think your brothers will return soon? Or is it worth it to stay up anymore?" Aragorn was startled at the sudden change of subject, and he looked at Boromir questioningly. The man only stared back, and suddenly Aragorn realized that he wasn't changing the subject, he was asking for advice. Boromir had never asked him for advice before.

"I think if we stayed up for a few more hours, we would see them. But if everyone's tired," Aragorn added hopefully, "You can go to bed and I'll just stay up by myself."

Merry looked at Aragorn with a curious expression in his eyes. "You really want to stay up by yourself? Are you trying to be the last one awake or something?"

"Yes! I- mean," Aragorn added in a subdued tone. "I wouldn't mind it."

"Well, if everyone is quiet for at least ten minutes, maybe I will fall asleep," Merry answered. "But if Legolas' voice suddenly healed, and he sang something, I might fall asleep even faster," he added, grinning at the Elf.

Legolas shook his head. "I'm not ready for that yet. Maybe tomorrow night."

"But tomorrow night, Frodo and Sam may be gone, and then they'll never get to hear you again," Merry protested. "And then what will Pippin and I do, if we can't go with them, and Master Elrond doesn't think we should, I know he doesn't! And I want to go, but it seems hopeless to try to convince anyone!" Merry's smile had faded, and he looked crestfallen and frustrated.

"Well you certainly are a pessimist," Legolas laughed, favoring the hobbit with a smile. He looked over at Frodo and Sam, who were also starting to look a little dejected at the prospect of their soon departure. "I'm not going either, so we can stay here and be miserable together."

Gandalf chuckled too, his eyes twinkling softly. "Don't be so gloomy, Master Merry. You never know what the future will bring. There is always hope."

"Yes, but where is it?"

Gandalf just looked at him and smiled. 

Three hours later, the fire had died down to mere embers, and the torches had long since burned out. Outside in the darkness, little stirred besides the dry leaves that scattered in the face of a cold, night wind. A quarter-moon hung silent and listless in the winter sky, barely casting light on the slumbering valley. Only the restless water moved beneath the bridge, tumbling on its endless way past many unseeing eyes.

Two tall figures crossed the veranda and appeared in the doorway of the library, surprised to find that it was still occupied. As their eyes grew accustomed to the darkness, they could discern several, small, large, wide, and thin figures scattered at various intervals across the room. Slowly picking their way through the maze of slumbering people, the two travelers exchanged whispered observations.

"Look, Elladan, here's Estel asleep. Trying to be the last one awake again!"

"Ssh! Stop talking so loud! He's not as deaf as he looks!"

"Sssh yourself! If the sound of that snoring dwarf didn't wake him, I don't know what can. I bet you didn't even notice that that's Gandalf sleeping there by your elbow. You would have knocked him in a minute."

Warily, Elladan moved away from the wizard, whose long hat was pulled down onto the bridge of his nose. He noticed another form curled up on the other side of Gandalf's chair, and cautioned Elrohir to lower his voice.

"Elrohir, I found Legolas over here. You'd better be quiet, though he looks dead asleep to me." So saying, he nearly tripped over the hobbits, whose small forms were hard to see in the dark. Cringing as Elladan kicked something across the floor, Elrohir shook a finger at his brother. 

"You're hopeless."

Regaining his balance, Elladan tried to discover what it was he had kicked. He picked a flat disc object off of the floor.

"Look Elrohir, they were playing our game."

Impatiently, Elrohir started to move towards the door. "What game?"

"Pel Palan. Look, here's the playing pieces. And the dice."

The Elf stifled a snigger. "You mean the ones that come out even 90% of the time?"

"Exactly. And here are all those ridiculous questions. Let's see. What two rivers flow into the Sea of Rhun?"

Elrohir threw his brother a withering look. "I don't know, and I don't care."

"Incorrect!"

"Elladan! You're being too loud!"

Elladan shrugged, putting the game back on the shelf, and stacking the cards beside it. Making his way over to the door, he stopped and looked back at the slumbering companions. "I wonder why they stayed up so late. They're going to be all tired out tomorrow."

Elrohir snorted. "I wonder how they survived the night. Legolas hates dwarves. You can barely mention the word around him!" he stopped suddenly, pointing at the figure in the third chair. "Who is that? Is that the Gondorian man who came to the Council?"

"I think so. What was his name? Baladir or something?" Elladan shrugged, dismissing the matter. But Elrohir looked thoughtful.

"I wonder why he and Estel never got along. They're both humans, after all, you'd think that-"

"We're brothers, and we still have arguments," Elladan reminded him.

"But that's different. And we're different. Estel is supposed to be that man's king."

"Exactly. That's the problem."

Understanding his brother's reasoning, Elrohir couldn't help but agree, but he still felt confused. "No matter what their differences are, they are still unlikely enemies."

"And even more unlikely friends," Elladan added. "But, you never know, there may still be some hope."

Elrohir shook his head. "I don't know what you're thinking, Elladan…"

His brother smiled knowingly. "Just you wait and see."

     As the two elves left the room, something stirred in the shadows. But it was only a stray leaf that fluttered on the doorstep, and was soon whisked back out onto the empty veranda. Then all was still and silent, except for the rhythmic breathing of the sleeping companions that neither ebbed nor slowed. Time flew by, and the night began to wane. By the time the sun edged over the horizon the last ember of fire had died on the hearth, and the smoke flew out of the open ceiling into the twilight, to meet the fading stars.

The End.

Author's Note: Even though this is just a short story, as an author I feel pretty satisfied, because it's the first story I've ever completed, in the extremely long history of me writing stories. Seriously, I have NEVER finished a story. This is an experiment, that hopefully proves I will be able to finish the other stories I have on ff. I think one of the most disappointing things in life is reading a half finished story that the author has no intention of completing. So now I can get back to Dark Things Silent, unless of course I think up a sequel to this one… 

In case you didn't notice, in the character's compilation story, they each add a new aspect of the character Eldacar that actually represents something about the character that is speaking. In other words, everyone is really saying something about themselves. Look back and think about it. Anyway, thanks for your time and patience. If you find any typos, it's because my younger sibling is still growing up, and needs to be a better proofreader.

So, until we meet again…

Namarie!

             -Mirkwood.


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